#why do we do this to ourselves what's wrong wi us?

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Pulling strings and aura reading. 3124 words.

1986

Hedy Lamarr: Golden Age movie star and inventor. George Antheil: avant-garde composer and inventor. Together, at the beginning of World War II, they developed a radio guidance system for the Allied Forces that could employ frequency hopping technology in order to overcome the issue of the Axis Powers’ signal jamming. Decades later, their innovation would become the basis for Wi-Fi and Bluetooth tech.

The Hollywood dinner party Hedy and George were both invited to would mark their meeting in 1940. Hedy hadn’t planned on attending.

“I hear you won’t be the only free thinker there, Hed,” Abby sing-songed from the passenger seat of Hedy’s car. “Maybe you should go. And besides, Janet’s parties are always so fashionable. I’m sure even more so now she’s married that little costumer designer of hers.”

And with that, Abby had pulled yet another set of strings. It was what she excelled at. Mostly, that was a good thing. She was a good witch. However, you hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye, especially since she was prone to stealing your clothes. When she cleared her throat, you noticed she was wearing the purple lace top you loved. Not lost on the road trip to Hawkins then.

“While it is in a witch’s nature to romanticise… well, everything... I must redirect your attention to what is clearly the most critical issue…” Abby started. She shot you a look. “Where is your angelic vampire now?”

Gillian looked at Sally. She had assumed you’d left Eddie in Hawkins. Certainly, he couldn’t be within the walls of the coven. A vampire couldn’t cross the hidden forest threshold.

You felt Kelsey move closer to you, standing behind you, closing ranks.

“Somewhere safe,” you told Abby.

“Can’t be more specific than that?”

“Fuck, Abby, does that matter?”

“I just want to know if you’ve made the same mistake twice. Did you bring a fox into the henhouse again?”

“I resent the implication of being a defenseless hen,” Kels complained.

The witches were talking among themselves once more, Abby planting a seed of fear in the coven. Eyes darted around, often flicking to you with accusatory stares. Your stomach was churning and Eddie was pushed as deeply into the corner of your pocket as he could go.

“Doesn’t this boil down to – do the means justify the ends? Because we have never abided by that before,”

“If the ends are the survival of the coven and the safety of the humans, then yes!”

Arguments were breaking out across the hall.

“Why didn’t she tell us about the vampire as soon as she happened across it?”

“Because we are a coven, not a hive mind. We are allowed to explore and learn for ourselves.”

You couldn’t gauge if a consensus was forming. Questions were coming hard and fast.

“Can we trust any of them again?”

“Where is the justice?”

“If it really is good, if… he has a soul… were there others?”

“What else have we been wrong about?”

“Even if it is good, what if it makes more, and they are the monsters we used to know?”

The tension was continuing to build. Those in the coven who were conflict-avoidant began to filter out of the hall. Whatever happened, what conclusion came, they would accept unconditionally. Other witches who had hitherto said nothing, began to share their opinions with those near them.

A voice called from within the crowd. A demand to be brought closer. Guðrún sat in her enchanted rocking chair, letting it glide just above the ground until she came to a stop before you. She was the oldest in the coven, having lived lives upon lives upon lives.

You knew Guðrún would scold Gillian and Sally later. To keep her in the dark about such important matters showed her a deep disrespect. That matter would be settled in private, among friends. You, though, the way she looked at you was as cold as ice.

“You are a healer. A rare and special gift for a witch. It comes as no surprise that you believed you saw life in something undead. When you tell your story, conviction yellow. Beloving pink.”

Guðrún was the only aura reader of the coven. Ancient wisdom gave her additional senses.

“But now. As you stand. Green turning bad. Not yet deception. Something concealed.”

Don’t break eye contact.

Don’t hold your breath.

Don’t roll over and show your soft belly.

“Too many. Too many hues. What is concealed… It is a… void. Not black, but a vacuum.”

Guðrún’s gaze trailed down to where Eddie was in your pocket. She couldn’t see him, but she could see the empty space around him where an aura should be.

Sally had figured it out the night before. The way you sat, careful of the way your jacket draped over body. Other physical cues. It was that, and that she just knew you. You’d never be parted from Eddie again. She kept the secret from her sister.

Gillian worked it out only then, following Guðrún’s line of sight. “You couldn’t unhex him completely? He returned to the bat form?” she asked you, stepping closer, ignoring the coven’s growing sense of anger and terror.

You said nothing.

She narrowed her eyes. “No. You did. But… This is how you got him through the gate… A trick of form?”

Realisation rippled outwards. For a moment, curiosity and anxiety were radiating from the coven in equal measures.

“If it is good, such a well behaved creature, then show us,” Abby called.

“He is not a show dog, Abigail,” you spat at her.

“Obviously not a dog. A bat. You’ve always had a penchant for the poetic. It’s a bit on the nose though,”

“Shut the fuck up, Abby,” Kelsey growled.

A strange sort of anticipatory silence fell across the hall. You knew what they were all waiting for.

…

1986, a few days earlier

“It smells nice,” Eddie commented.

He was sitting on the couch behind you. You’d dragged your coffee table altar closer to it, so you could sit between his legs on the floor and do your work.

“It’s the sage. You always say something when there’s sage.”

Your protection spell for Eddie had been finished, but in the eleventh hour, you had a stroke of inspiration.

The potion was a total risk. It was more guesswork than witchcraft. Almost a Hail Mary. You’d probably be throwing up into the mix out of stress if Eddie wasn’t gently playing with your hair.

It was symbiosis. He liked to have his hands on you. You liked his nails on your scalp. Everyone was kept sedated.

“It’s a good idea, my love,” Eddie told you, again.

“In theory,”

“And in practice. It will work.”

…

1986, a few days later

You knew what they were all waiting for.

“Remember that what you put into the world comes back tenfold,” you warned.

After one last look to Kelsey for support, you reached into your jacket and scooped Eddie up. While keeping your hand touching your chest, you uncurled your fingers to reveal the small bat.

Mostly, the witches were underwhelmed. Some, confused.

“Turn it back,” a voice from somewhere in the crowd said.

“Again. He is not a fucking show dog,” you sneered.

“Then how do we know it’s not dangerous?” Abby asked. “Who says as soon as it’s back in its vampire form, it won’t try to kill us all?”

She’s a good witch, you reminded yourself. A good witch. Part of your coven. But every family has the shit-stirring little sister that could stand to be brought down a peg or two. Alas, it was not the time nor place.

“Me,” you answered.

“And me,” Kelsey added.

“If you come pleading for absolution, the condition of an introduction is not too great an ask,” Guðrún declared. “If it is not a monster, then a meeting should pose no challenge,”

“The challenge doesn’t lie with me. It is with the coven,” you told her.

“You fear violence,”

“Yes. Should I not? Can you tell me all the colours emanating around us are peaceful blues? I know you see red and black and midnight tones. Why shouldn’t I fear this?”

Guðrún studied your face, briefly read the room. Before she could say anything else, and before Abby could move things along with a tug of a string, you let yourself really feel the fear. You wanted to puke.

“I have everything to lose,” you said, voice cracking. Eddie’s tiny little bat hands clung to your shirt, your hands shielding him still. “I am entirely prepared to lose my place here. And, you know what happens to a covenless witch. I have spent weeks agonising over this. All the possible outcomes. Yet here I fucking am. Telling you, all of you, what I did. What I did wrong. Why I did it. Telling you that I was stupid and I feel embarrassed. But that I was in love. That I am in love. That I was hurt in an immeasurable way. But I have found a way from there to here, and that means something. It is worth something.”

Everybody was silent.

It was always going to come to this.

Turning to Kelsey, she pre-empted your request, casting darkness over the windows, then heading out the hall.

“His name is Eddie. Edward. He was twenty when he was turned. It was 1586. He had no choice. He’s almost finished The Lord of the Rings. He helps me forage. He does housework… Eddie has a list of cats throughout history he thinks are cool. His favourite is Unsinkable Sam… He’s… He’s not what you think he is.”

Still, nobody said anything.

Kelsey reappeared at your side, holding out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.  Taking them, you turned your back on the coven, standing close enough to Kels that you formed a small partition. Your teeth were trying to chatter, nervous energy screaming to get out of you.

Please. Please. Please.

You didn’t know who you were praying to.

You said the words, Eddie appeared.

The silence became a living thing. It ate up gasps and giggles. Words and wind.

Eddie dressed quickly, but not too quickly. No vampire speed. No sudden movements. He looked you dead in the eye, your reflection in that deep darkness. Hand in hand, you stepped to reveal him to your coven.

There was not a single face of indifference.

Becoming hyper-aware of everything in your surroundings, you first focussed on Sally and Gillian. Their slumped postures. Deep set frowns. Resignation. No threat.

Abby’s fast and shallow breathing. Blown pupils.

Guðrún was squinting so hard you could barely see her eyes. She could will it all she wanted, there was no aura to read. She had no better insight than you. Than any of the others. It made her feel powerless, but in that was grace. If she had no better vantage point, her vote meant nothing more. She ceded. 

The grief was written all over Sara’s face as she moved silently through the coven. You stepped in front of Eddie, held a hand out to her.

“Bug, wait,” you asked. Sara – Bug – who you used to spend hours drying and pressing flowers with. Preserving colour and beauty. Happy in each other’s company.   

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore,” Sara snapped. “You walked by our side for centuries, but by a single moonlit night you betrayed us?”

“Sara-”

“No. She died in my arms… You were there. You tried to stitch her together. But her skin was too shredded. Too much blood loss. They ripped her apart and now… Now this?”

Sara’s grandmother was older than Guðrún but perished at the hands of Eddie’s colony. You had tried to heal her. Save her. There hadn’t been any hope though.

Sara’s hand moved in her pocket and you became acutely aware of why she had not said anything earlier. She hadn’t been in the room. Sara had disappeared and filled her pockets with the death dust. Most witches had stored theirs away, the need gone. Not Sara. Not ever.

She moved fast, her palms flung open and a deep breath out pushing dust up and at Eddie with supernatural speed and force. It would only take a single flake of it to kill him.

It all happened in an instant. The magic hit the border of the protection spell and Sara was showered in the dust, as if she had been the intended target. Simultaneously, Eddie hissed, an innate and unconscious reaction to an attack. And you grabbed him by the arm and yanked him backward, putting space between him and the coven.

Everyone froze, processing your warning of tenfold and the events that had transpired.

Tears streamed down Sara’s face. “You’re choosing him over us?”

Abby walked to her, wrapped an arm around her waist. “Bug,” she said softly.

“I’m asking to not have to choose,” you tried to explain.

Sara wasn’t listening, not to you, not to Abby, who was whispering something to her. Distracted by this, you did not see Alexis.

Alexis did not come for death. She came for pain. She held a dagger made from carnelian, steel, and crocodile scales. She drove the dagger through the air, but hit the spell border just as the death dust had. The spell was a mirror, it would reverse the magic back to sender.

Alexis’ blade spun from her hands and glided too quickly at her. It aimed for her heart, as she had aimed for Eddie’s. Its trajectory would have seen it plunge through her ribcage’s gaps and into her still-beating heart. If Alexis died, it would all be over.

But Eddie was there.

He moved in a blink and caught Alexis with one arm, holding her safely. His other grabbed the dagger, letting it slice through the side of the hand so he could catch it mid-air. The room held its breath. Alexis’ green eyes were wide and set on Eddie. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t pull herself from Eddie’s embrace.

“I mean you no harm,” he murmured quietly, just to her. “And I like your freckles.”

Eddie let Alexis go; she stumbled a few steps before steadying herself. He moved slowly again, turning to the coven and dropping the dagger, letting it clang against the floorboards.

You rushed to him, throwing your arms around him. “Are you okay?” Looking down, Eddie had already healed from the blade. You held him tightly. He closed his eyes and melted into you.

The witches watched. Some submerged in waves of grief, some choking on anger. Some could smell honeysuckle, a sure sign of true love. Others felt a ripple of change, their skin prickling with goosebumps.

You looked to the coven.

“This is… too much. It’s too much for me. And for each of you… But it’s done…” You shook your head, then shrugged. “I just… I don’t know… We have been guided by so many forces. By what we learn. By fate, and life, and death. By the systems of morality we take from the humans. By each other. And I don’t know what’s really right. So, I’ll make my own meaning now. It’s… yeah, it’s been working. What I’ve done in Hawkins. It is good. There’s good to be done there…”

It was resonating. Ev, Meg, and Hailey. Ash, Mel, and Kelsey. More and more witches, lost in a liminal space of post-purpose. What did it mean to be a witch without a goal? What did it mean to be a woman in 1986?

Eddie watched you. I will diminish, and go into the West and remain Galadriel, the book echoed in his head. You held yourself with the same loveliness as Galadriel. Not always, but now.

“I’m going back. Maybe I’ll stay there. Maybe I’ll find somewhere else that needs help. But I don’t belong here anymore. And, maybe that’s okay. Maybe it will… it will be okay…”

As your thoughts trailed off, you met Abby’s gaze. She nodded once, a promise that you would be left alone. You nodded back, then looked for Guðrún. She had already left, putting faith in the youth of the coven.

Some of the witches began to leave the hall. You had no way of knowing who you had hurt and if you would ever be forgiven, but you were willing to pay the price of that shame to keep Eddie.

Kelsey was the first to come to you. “I’m coming with you,” she announced fearlessly.

“Me too,” echoed Mel.

The others stepped up, nodding.

“You don’t have to do this,” you told them.

“And you don’t get to tell us what to do,” Meg replied.

“You’re right. Maybe you don’t belong here. But maybe you’re not the only one,” Ev said.

A deep exhaustion was taking over. Your energy was draining into the protection spell, the mirrored bubble around Eddie took so much of your magic to keep intact. All you had in you to do was nod. You’d argue with them another day.

“Hi,” from Ash then. She grinned at Eddie.

“Hi,” he replied, flashing her a trademark smile. He took your hand. “I, ah, look forward to meeting you all. But I believe it might be best if I depart. For now,”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Do you wanna go ahead? I know this looks like a truce but it feels more like a stalemate. I’ll be on the road in a few hours... Sic fiat,” and the bat swirled through the air and out the open door. He flew up, up, up, until the wards of the coven were far below him.

Eddie covered miles of Catskills quickly, before finding a nice tree to huddle in, awaiting your arrival.

“You’re leaving already?” Kelsey asked.

“You don’t have to go right away,” Hailey told you.

“I’m causing more sorrow than joy being here. It’s not fair on the others,”

“What happened wasn’t fair to you,” Mel pointed out.

“I know. But… This isn’t black and white… But I’m kind of tired… Meg… Any cinnamon rolls ready? You know, for the road?”

You sat with your sisters, drinking tea and eating baked goods. They told you about their lives, about what the past few months had looked like for them. And while none of it was on the same scale as Henry Creel and revived vampires, you realised you were not alone.

When you imagined the path forward, you were always holding Eddie’s hand. You were the only witch walking though. However, all it took to build a coven was a couple of witches with overlapping notions of love, magic, and morality. Maybe there was room for more.

End Note: Thank you to @jo-harrington for teaching me about the very real Hedy Lamarr. If you don't know about her, she is absolutely worth a Google.

To the newest additions to the coven - @munson-blurbs and @littlesubbyflower. Thank you for being the face of objection.

And, to anyone that loves Catfish and the Bottlemen as much as I do... I had to do it. Hopefully, it wasn't too cringe lmaoooooo.

Grimoire is updated.

REBLOG AND TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEELS!!!

Love yas.

Fic Taglist:  @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16

[jacobsbadwig]

I have this long standing analysis of YA media dropping the ball on themes and consequences for its main characters giving them huge plot armor. What I realize the frustrating part about them is that often they are fantasy or fantasy adjacent, the authors accidentally create these huge worlds and severe problems and implications, but ironically, their main characters are separate from the world they inhabit via tone or their characteristics or mindset not aligning with the world (aka 21 century American mindset in a fantasy that takes place in 18th Russian analog iykyk)

Like Bella’s story being a romance while everyone else in a horror or gothic novel or pseudo vampire thriller or fantasy series is like odd as @panlight often points out mentioning SMeyers unwillingness to really lean into the vampire of it all. Honestly in a non first person story, this could be played for laughs to even be interesting.

(Never mind Smeyers surface understanding of the novels and plays, that she references as Bella’s favorite stories. As a former English teacher, her understanding and Bella’s understanding is in fact of someone who read some classics in high school but didn’t necessarily delve into the commentary and themes of the works focusing on the aesthetics of the romance rather than understanding what said purpose romance actually serves in the narrative as a critic or other wise. Insert ‘Smeyer doesn’t know what star crossed lovers means and refuses to learn rant)

Ironically, Bella having a romance in her world is portrayed as the exception when we look at other characters, even the uncivilized vampires, she is in fact the norm.

What makes Bella special other than her shield she gets at the end? She isn’t even the only one with great control. There are other hybrids. She is special because the text tells us she is. I’m not going to compare her to other female protagonists because my point isn’t about Bella as a character but rather how her narrative allows her to be special without really, really setting her apart from everyone else.

Just about everything the narrative says is specific to Bella’s story can be found in other characters backstories (that honestly don’t matter but do matter as a comparison that Bella is the exception to the rule rather than the example as I stated above.)

I think a lot of people cling to the Twilight saga (and other YA novels) but simultaneously desire more from the narrative because we want to feel special without doing the work, which isn’t wrong especially at a young age when you are finding yourself, but once we reach a level of maturity, we want our gifts and specialness to allow us to love ourselves and move in society as it drives our lives.

It’s why we cling to characters like Carlisle who doesn’t have known powers and has had series of trauma and has to actively rise above it. Or Jacob who is beaten by the narrative and should have been a symbol of how fate is myth and bullshit and circumstances may forge your path but choices and perseverance can alter it or make the path better.

I wanted to discuss @fuckmeyer Come Nightfall along with other Twilight reimaginings and how I feel as though, hers is the best damn thing we have. But while trying to write out my thoughts and why I feel as though I could never accomplish something like that, I ended writing this post after many posts about Star Wars. Honestly, I am reminded about two ideas: we are protagonist in our own stories and we are also side characters in others. Meaning we are chosen ones chosen for something greater but that doesn’t mean no one else is a chosen one.

Maybe that’s why I have out grown YA novels. Adulthood is in fact learning that you are hot shit but not always hot shit but other people also make sure your shit stays hot and you also make sure theirs stays hot too.

At the end of this thought process, I am left asking what was Bella actually chosen for. To be born a vampire? A Cullen vampire? A vampire in general? Edward’s wife and Renegades mother? Did she actually take the Volturi down (no but I’m posing the question) Or did she deny the call to what her purpose was.

If the last thing is true, then someone must rise to take her place.

I think Come Nightfall and other ideas answer this question and make it clearer that Bella chose her path rather than it being forced upon in a way the OG Twilight didn’t convince me. At the same time, fics and musing that pose other answers are just as compelling.

As for me, I believe Bella Swan denied her call arguably the call was declined for her the moment Edward entered the picture or maybe when she went to the Volturi (the Volturi of it all is for a other post but they should have killed her or turned her like WTF? Dumb). But also Bella Cullen’s only purpose in the narrative was to be Edward’s wife and Renesemes’s mother regardless of her earlier apprehensions.

[therianomalocaris]

I am never beating the Dirk allegations

CONTENT WARNING: mention of system integration

Today is my birthday, and as always that means I am reflecting on myself and the ways I've changed throughout my life. Let's talk about my relationship to Dirk Strider and how I've started calling myself a "kinnie" despite hating the word.

There's a running joke in my friend group, that when I say certain things people respond "Okay, Dirk." and I pretend to be offended. This is of course in reference to the character Dirk Strider from Homestuck, my favorite guy that I study and rotate in my mind every single second of every day. They love doing it and I encourage it, and the more it happens the more I find myself reflecting on it.

I don't know how I feel about it.

I guess it feels good, and makes me feel seen, but having awakened as fictionkin many years ago I can't say it's the same kind of feeling as when people acknowledge me as my kintypes. But lately it has started to affect me.

I've talked in the past about how my BPD and alterhumanity intersect, namely that I have a very thin sense of self. A part of that manifested in me becoming a robot after a friend I'm very close to decided to acknowledge me as one, the statement ringing so true that I changed in accordance. I became someone else.

I do not label myself as robotkin(d) or machinekin(d), because a robot is simply a thing I am. Appending -kin(d) feels to me like i am putting distance between me and being a robot, because my kintypes are only parts of me. There is a me that would still exist if you took the anomalocaris or the Vriska or the Kevin out, but if you took the robot out I would be a fully different person. That's what it means to me, at least.

So is that what's happening to me right now? Am I, in a sense, in the process of becoming Dirk Strider through a similar chain of events? Well, yes, I believe I am.

But there is something else. An event I have put off reflecting upon, mainly because it wasn't a very fun time. In 2019, the Homestuck Epilogues dropped, and my system collapsed- I was already having an incredibly hard time in my personal life and the harshness of the text, triggering subject matter, and my altered state of mind due to having been drinking at the time all collided to create a trauma response in us that caused us all to integrate.

We all had to rebuild ourselves as separate people in the thirty minutes that followed, and in that moment I think I absorbed a non-insignificant portion of the very text that caused this to happen. I now believe my brain processed the event through the lens of Ultimate Dirk.

Unlike with my Vriska theriotype, I don't believe this caused me to actually become the character. Though both have similar origins as responses to trauma, Ult!Dirk was a framework my mind came up with to rebuild itself rather than a conscious choice I made to cope with a bad situation.

I did not feed this particular change for a long time, and when other people started doing it for me I was more puzzled than anything. I was genuinely a little offended at first, because the statement was factually wrong, but as time goes on it's starting to become true. It felt wrong for a long time, until it eventually... didn't.

For better or for worse, the word "kinnie" is the only one that I feel fits my current state with regards to this. I wish there was a better one, but it's the one that clicks- if being a robot is simply a truth about what I am, and my kintypes are part of me, then Ult!Dirk is currently one level removed from that. This is why the word is currently useful to me, not that I'm really happy about it.

I am fully aware that to a lot of people even admitting that's what I've been calling it makes me sound less serious about my alterhumanity, and I am actively looking for a better term. These birthday writings only reflect where I currently am in my life, even if it's messy, and this is where I am. Maybe by next year this will have changed, but only time will tell.

[cerenemuxse]

TGR but There's a Roleswap - Chapter 12

Chapter 12 - Lonely

Goodbye Fat Controller (Season 19 Episode 25)

Word Count: 706

The story can be found at @tgr-2x5-roleswap-au for easier access.

~

Before Edward knew it, he was back in his shed at the Furness Railway Trust’s temporary headquarters, located near Derby Works. A few days had passed since he’d returned from the Great Railway Show and all was quiet. He was no longer near Coppernob, who was returned to the National Railway Museum. Thank goodness was all that he could think of the moment the older engine was taken away, looking forward to enjoying the quiet for a while. To give it a rest before feeling lonely again that is.

That was the idea but it didn’t work out as such. The moment his temporary crew left him alone, it felt too quiet. It was much more lonely. The absence of engines was stronger than before.

And he absolutely despised it.

Edward felt agitated the day after his return and felt that way ever since. The "shed," as they all called it, was small and bland from the inside. He was typically surrounded by its cream-white concrete walls, facing the metal shed door.

The volunteers of the Furness Railway Trust would occasionally bring him out but he never went farther than the tiny yard surrounding the area. British Railways wouldn't allow him on the traffic lines unless he absolutely needed to so there was no interaction with other engines for him.

"W-When dae I leave?" Edward asked the volunteer attending him.

And by attending him, the job was as simple as just keeping him company.

"Next week," replied the volunteer.

"Where?"

"Edward, you know that's a surprise!"

The Larger Seagull engine huffed.

The elder volunteer chuckled. "You know, you're more…" His words drifted into a hum.

"...more…?"

"Talkative," the volunteer admitted. "It feels like just yesterday you weren't able to talk."

"I've… I can talk."

"Let me be more clear. It feels like just yesterday that you weren't able to talk properly. Why, the day before you left for the show, you were just starting to form sentences. Now you're speaking with more clarity."

"Och."

"What's wrong?" asked the volunteer, noticing the solemn tone.

Edward sighed. "It's… It’s lonely."

"But you have us."

"Thon's no' whit I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"There's nah other engines."

The volunteer eyed him suspiciously.  "I thought you didn't like the company of other engines."

"Ma siblings-"

"Anyone except your siblings."

"Well, nah, but…"

"But…?" The volunteer leaned forward.

"It's nice- It’s nice bein' around other nice engines, even wit' yer past."

"Well, they don't know-"

"They dae."

"Pardon?"

"They dae. Those engines frae the North Western Railway. They're nice."

"But didn't you have a bit of a run-in with one of them?" asked the volunteer cautiously. "Everyone knows what happened when you got left behind on Sodor."

"I did. I apologizit. He didnae take it at first. He scarit me a bit," said Edward. "He was a bit… a bit rude."

"But you kept looking for him. Were you trying to pick a fight?"

Edward immediately frowned. "I wisnae!" he huffed out, pissed off.

"Alright, alright!" immediately exclaimed the volunteer. "I just wanted to make sure."

Edward wasn't convinced, looking unamused and nervous at the volunteer.

"Now what about that engine?" the volunteer asked, hoping to divert the conversation. "Did he help you or not?"

With a hum, he replied. "Nah. But then I found him… later thon day. We talkit for a bit."

"About what?"

"Aboot ourselves. We told stories. It wis nice tae jist talk. It's nice tae have a friend."

"A friend?" He was surprised. "You made a friend?"

"Aye…?" Old Coppernob's words started hurling back at him. "Is thon bad? Am I no' allowit tae?"

"Of course, not! This is a good thing, Edward," he reassured. "If anything, you'll be fine when you come into contact with Esmeralda."

"Who?"

"That GNR Stirling Single. The one built back in eighteen-seventy."

"The Stirling A-Ane?"

"Yes-!"

"Excuse me! Quinn!" interrupted the voice of another volunteer, a younger man. Both Edward and the older man peered over at the young volunteer. The young volunteer lifted his arm and waved around an enclosed envelope. “There’s a letter-!”

“Leave it in the office, Reginald,” quickly interrupted Quinn. He looked back at Edward. “Now, as I was saying-”

“But it’s for Edward!”

~

Tysm for reading! To anyone who commented on the now-deleted Ao3 upload, thank you so much. 😭 They mean a lot.

At the time of posting this, there is a sequel in the works! When will the first chapter be up? I have no idea. I threw myself another project due to my recent hyperfixation of Helluva Boss. Also got stuff going on irl (exam week is upcoming and im on my way to fail a class-)

[iluffyouxo]

ᖇOOT ᗷᗴᗴᖇ || ᗪᗩᖇYᒪ ᗪI᙭Oᑎ

the walking dead — daryl dixon x black, female reader

The little things? The little moments? They aren't so little. The most beautiful things in life are not just things. They're people, places, memories and pictures. They're feelings, moments, smiles and laughter. That's what I like about photographs the most; it's proof that for a moment—even for just a heartbeat—everything was perfect.

I avert my gaze towards another framed photo displayed amongst the plethora of others sprawled apon the chipping grey walls.

Then, my heart stops for a beat at the image presented before me. Two figures—one male, the other female—pulling each other close into an embrace. Their grins wide and miraculous. And I couldn't help but to smile back at them.

"Bishop? Bishop, where are you?" The desperation in the pleas of my partner alerted me and I immediately turned the corner to the steep staircase of the well-kept mansion. "Andrea...what's wrong?"

I found her walking out of the kitchen, a black tote bag overflowing with cans weighing down on her shoulder. She placed her blonde hair into a makeshift ponytail as sweat beaded down her dirt covered face and arms before pointing her thumb behind her. "I found the jackpot," She grinned, "Hurry and fill your bag up as much as you can. We're about to be late."

At the mention of being late, I scurry down the last few steps to the main hall and made a beeline straight for the kitchen.

Quickly, I stuff my bag with canned vegetables and fruit, boxed crackers, bottles of water, an unopened bag of old halloween candy and some fruit snacks. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of something shining in the descending sun. I focus on it completely and my eyes widen in surprise. "Is that a six pack of root beer? How has no one raided this place yet?"

Andrea walks up behind me, a knowing smirk on her face. "I don't know, probably because raiding a mansion in the hills is pretty intimidating. But I knew you'd be happy finding those for Daryl." I blink up at her. "Daryl? These aren't for Daryl, these are for me." I make my way towards the front door with the pack of soda in hand.

The image of the picture upstairs flashed through my mind as I started walking out and I hastily ran up the stairs to snatch the picture off of the wall.

"What did you forget?" Andrea asks as I fall into step with her. "A picture." Her thin brows furrow in question. "Did that house belong to someone you knew?" I shake my head, "No. But the people in the picture looked happy. I want to carry their happiness with me." Andrea sends me a confused glance but questions me no further. "Alright, whatever floats your boat."

"Bishop, what took you so long?" I turn away from Andrea at the concerned voice. "Sorry, Rick, we ended up wandering a bit further onto the hill. We found a mansion, completely untouched." Andrea shows off her tote filled to the brim with canned goods. "We were able to fill our bags full of food! And there's even more than this!"

Rick only frowns. "Why would you two wander off so far? What if it had been overrun by walkers?" Andrea only rolls her eyes. "But, it wasn't. Bishop and I can take care of ourselves. Especially Bishop. You know that." Yet he still only stares down at us. I sigh, "Right, sorry. It won't happen again. Next time we'll be more vigilant and won't stray away from the group."

My partner gawks at me. "Bishop." However, I bear her no mind. Rick nods in approval before tending to the other members of our impromptu team.

"Hey, what was that back there?" The blonde catches my arm as I stalk towards Dale's RV. "Discipline, Andrea. Rick is our leader, and as such he stands in the right to put us in our place. In this group we have no rank nor a say so. We do as we're told unless suggested otherwise."

She crosses her arms at me, lips pursed in annoyance. "So, what? You're his pliant puppy now?" I freeze at her words. "I am no one's puppy. Rick knows that I could kill him with a simple flick of my wrist if I wanted to. Nevertheless, I respect him as my leader. You should do the same, Andrea." With that said I started walking towards the RV again.

I toss myself onto the bed, rolling my shoulders back with a sigh. "Pliant puppy, huh?" A snicker sounded from the opened door. "Shut up," I grumble laying down.

There was silence as footsteps approached me and I was soon met with an unwelcomed bodyweight shifting on top of me, a head plopping down on my shoulder. I run my fingers through his hair as I try evening out my breaths. "For such a shy person, you sure do love cuddling on top of me." I chuckle as I could practically feel the heat rise to his face. "Shut up," He mumbles, "Yer jus' comfy, is all." I hum in response.

"It's gon' rain soon," He breaks the tranquility of our little break from reality as he shifts on top of me. "We should tell the others to get ready, smells like 's gonna be a big storm." I nod. "Alright. I'll find Carol and Sofia and tell them to camp in here for the night. Does your motorcycle have gas?" He nods. "Yeah."

Despite our discussion we don't move from where we lay comfortable in each other's embrace. Much like the framed photo I stashed away in my bag. "By the way, I brought you a six pack of root beer." He nuzzles into my shoulder. "Really? Thanks. I ain't had none since we left the city." I smile slightly. "I know."

And still it wasn't until the first few droplets of rain pattered on the window pane that we decided it was time to get up and prepare for the storm to hit. But not before enjoying a shared can of root beer.

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

chapter 4

Warnings: a bar, talk of drinking, swearing

AN: I heard the new Niall Horan song and kept thinking of these two so I added it. It’s called Heaven. This ran longer than i thought. So the next part will be posted soon.

Court ran slowly as more and more cases stalled. Dan and I kept shooting glances at each other, simply keeping ourselves going on that alone. By lunch, we were glad to have a break. Sitting down, Dan put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him. I moved my chair as close as I could before leaning my head onto his shoulder.

“So considering we’re all going to need it, who wants to go out tonight?” Gurgs asked as she sat down across from Neil. He shrugged and Olivia nodded.

“it’ll be nice after tonight.” She added. Abbie looked over at Dan and I. She smiled softly at us and tilted her head.

“What about you two?” Dan looked at me and rubbed his thumb across my arm.

“You want to go?” He murmured. I shrugged.

“Up to you.” I looked up at him from where I was resting. Dan squeezed my shoulder and I rolled my eyes. "Where you guys going?" Gurgs looked up from her phone.

"Tommy's." She answered. "I was just trying to reserve a table." I looked back up at Dan.

"Tommy's is nice." He nodded and leaned his head against mine. "We wouldn't have to leave the table."

"Count us in." He sighed. Gurgs finished reserving the table and sent us all the information. "Not how I envisioned spending the night with you. But it'll do." I chuckled and leaned into him further.

"We don't have to stay long." I assured him. Dan nodded and leaned down to kiss me. Abbie sent us back on our way to the court afterwards and time seemed to speed up. Before long, we were grabbing our belongings and heading out. "You want to drive? Or me?" I asked as Dan let go of my hand to search for his keys.

"You're riding with me?" He asked, a slight smirk decorating his face. "I thought you were going to take advantage of having a car again." I rolled my eyes and shoved his arm.

"Dan. I'm serious." I laughed. Smiling at me, he gestured to my car.

"Why don't you drive?" He ushered me over with a hand on my back. "I can get my car tomorrow." Nodding, I watched as he opened my car door. I shook my head with a smile as I got in, quietly thanking him. Once he got in, I drove off to the bar. "I'm not drinking tonight." I glanced over at him.

"Why not?" I asked. He was silent for a little while. "You don't have to drink just because I'm not." Dan smiled over at me and put his hand on my leg.

"Just don't feel like it." He assured me. Nodding, I pulled into a parking space and we got out. Once we entered, it was easy to spot the table Gurgs has reserved. "How are we the last ones here?" Olivia and Neil shared a look.

"Maybe because we didn't have to decide who was going to drive. Or offer showy romantic gestures." Neil grumbled. I blushed and slid into the corner seat, hiding in the darkness it afforded me. Dan slid his hand into mine as he took the seat next to me.

"There's nothing wrong with romantic gestures like opening a car door." Dan defended himself. Abbie came over with a round of drinks and put them in front of everyone. I nodded my thanks for the soda before taking a sip. Dan offered his to Olivia and leaned back in his chair. Abbie narrowed her eyes at him but didn't say anything, just sat down on the other side of me and toasted me with her soda. Gurgs and Neil downed their drinks and headed off to the dance floor. I leaned against Dan's shoulder, wrapping my hands around his arm. "Tired?" He asked, voice slightly raised from the music. I shook my head and smiled at him.

"No." I squeezed his arm. "Just enjoying this." Dan leaned over and kissed my forehead. I hummed contentedly until Olivia came over and took my arm. “What?” I questioned as she tugged me onto the dance floor.

“Not everything has to be about Dan. Have some fun! Live a little!” she exclaimed. I stared at her wide eyed as she took my hands and tried to get me to move to the music. Rolling her eyes, she smiled softly at me. “Look take it from me, it’s a new relationship. You want everything to be about you and him. But don’t make it that way. It gets old fast. And while that might be what you both want, I know you. Abbie knows you. Even Neil knows you…” she gestured to him next to me.

“Hey!” He pouted. Olivia gave him a pointed look. “But she’s right.” I looked between the two of them, trying to figure out what they meant.

“You want whatever this is with dan to mean something more than just a few flings. And I’m sure dan wants that with you too.” Olivia said. I blushed, thankful for the colored lights.

“judging by the look he has on his face right now, he does.” Neil said, nodded over at our table. It looked like Abbie was probably giving him the same talk I was getting right now. “Just do yourselves a favor and take it slow?” He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Besides working with the two of you post break up would be absolutely horrendous.” I laughed and nodded.

“Alright. We’ll try not to make it all about us. Take our time and just enjoy what we have.” I agreed, finally starting to dance with Olivia. Gurgs joined us and I started to lose track of the time. I jumped at the gentle hand on my back before turning around to face dan. “Hi!” I cried, taking the cup he held out to me.

“Soda. I just went and got it.” He leaned over so he didn’t have to yell above the music. I hummed appreciatively as I took a sip.

“Thanks.” Discreetly holding the cup so I covered the top, I leaned into him slightly. “So you got that talk too?” Dan chuckled.

“If Olivia was telling you to take it slow and not make everything about me then yeah Abbie gave me the same talk about you.” I laughed and shook my head. Finishing my drink, I held his hand and started to lead him back to the table. The song changed and I stopped. Dan tugged on my hand and I shook my head.

“Dance with me.” I turned to him and wrapped my arms around his neck. Dan furrowed his eyebrows but wrapped his arms around my waist anyway. Once the song started to register, he smiled and started to sway with me. Leaning into him, I rested my forehead against his. “This is nice.”

“It really is.” Dan agreed. He kissed me softly. I ran my fingers through his hair as he pulled away. “I could get used to this.”

[hurricanepursonafied]

Things We Said in the Dark

Chapter one:

It all started with the crash. Maybe if I hadn't seen that cat... maybe if I wasn't so obsessed with going to that writers camp. Now, looking back on it all, it seems such a childish want. So unnecessary. I wish I told them I loved them more. Helped them more.

I can't change what happened though. They will always be gone and I will always have broken our family.

I stood in the pouring rain watching four caskets being lowered into the ground. The rain dripped in a steady flow over my umbrella.

I got to choose my dress for this occasion. It was black with white accents. The skirt fell just below my knees and the sleeves were puffed. My black corset pinched at the back but I looked amazing anyhow.

I had to look amazing at all times. I had to be perfect.

For my father.

Any other occasion and it would have been one of my favorites. My left stocking was white and my right was black. My shoes were my normal black lace up boots.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up, my father's face peered down at me from under his own umbrella.

His was only for him so it was much smaller. His eyes were dark and tumultuous, he glanced a disapproving gaze at my sister, her face was twisted in pain and tears were pouring from her eyes, enough to match the storm. My other sister, Hazel, and I knew how to keep our faces neutral and calm. And yet Hazel’s hand clung to mine.

My father beckoned us away from the grave and we watched as he shoveled the first pile of dirt onto the mahogany caskets. A wave of panic rose in me but I knew to keep it under control.

I turned my face to my sister and wrapped my arm around her as I tried to shield her from the view of the others at this funeral. I knew something they didn't so it was easy to keep my feelings under control. I knew my father's secret. Why he seemed to always have a solution when things went....wrong. And this was definitely wrong.

After the caskets were buried my father walked over to us, his hair dripping with rainwater, his hands covered in dirt. He took some of the soil that my mother and siblings were buried in. He walked past us without even glancing at us. My sister Alora, the one who doesn't know how to keep her emotions in check, tried to reach out for him. Her hand grasped his trench coat for a split second and then... it slipped out of her fingers and he continued to walk away.

I quickly grabbed her outstretched hand and pulled her along, my umbrella in one hand and Hazel, my other surviving sister following next to me.

My father's profile was clear against the blurry rain, it bounced off his broad shoulders. My father and I have never had a stable relationship, he had been in some shifty organizations and been into drugs and just the general lowlives of civilization and I am now the only one besides himself who remembers what he did to us. To me. To my mother. She was the only other person who remembered and who stood as a wall between us.

Not that she had been able to stand like a wall between the world and I, my “friends” made sure I knew exactly how bad the world was from and early age.

And she was never able to truly protect us from him, I still saw and heard and felt things through the cracks. No matter what, he still found a way to seep through the cracks in her barriers and hurt me. She definitely had a lot of cracks too, she was quite obsessed with having children and often left me and my older siblings to our own devices, we weren’t the cute little babies after all. We could take care of ourselves.

I can do it too, I can take care of myself.

The limo we rode in was dark and lovely but the occupants were stiff and miserable. My father sat at the end, where he could keep an eye on all of us, we sat on the edge seats. The cushy seats went all the way around one end only stopping for the doors. It was custom built for my father after a...transaction with the company that made it.

"Don't cry about this, My Daughters. Everything will end well."

This was obviously directed at my sister Alora who was still crying and rubbing her eyes, she sniffed and blinked away her tears. She was trying so hard to pretend she was fine and yet her lips still quivered.

Her hands clenched at her dress, hers was dark reddish orange, the skirt was simple enough, it flared out in a 50s style, the top was the eye catching piece. The top looked like a butterfly, the sleeves were in the shape of wings. It was a fiery monarch butterfly.

She kept her eyes to her lap and didn't movie for the rest of the trip. Hazel pulled out her journal and pulled her knees to her chest to prop the book up to write. Nearly 12, she was allowed to pick out her own dress, even if she where younger she would most likely still pick out her own dress. She's always had a sort of mature air about her. Her dress was a dark blue, the skirt was styled to look like a starry sky, the top was a white medieval lace up top with puffed sleeves.

Some of my favorite designs that I made...

I'm glad they where put to good use and worn to something as fabulous as a funeral.

The road grew bumpy as it changed to gravel and I knew we arrived at our house. It wasn't a home exactly. Simply a place of residence.

My father designed it to be large and magnificent but not...home.

I've never had a Home.

First chapter of my creepypasta storieee as someone who grew up poor all these rich and magnificent things my character has (well now she does, her father came to his riches quite suddenly and without warning) is new territory for me so I hope I did well!

[uncloseted]

Do you find it strange we're going through a loneliness epidemic but the majority of people don't actually actively seek relationships with others? So many times I've had college classmates complain how boring their lives are and how friendless they are but when I invite them to something or to hang out (so money isn't involved) they never want to interact outside of class and social media. Could be that I'm the issue but it's tiring hearing people complain but reject you in the same breath

I mean, I think that's why we're going through a loneliness epidemic. I think a lot of young Millennials/Gen Z (at least in the US) grew up in a time where almost all social interaction was either scheduled (like school, after school activities) or took place online. A lot of us were raised with this idea of "stranger danger" that began to infiltrate all relationships with strangers, not just adults we didn't know. And then combined with that, I think it became less common for people to just talk to random strangers in public- now if someone approaches you, they want something specific from you (usually money or a signature, but sometimes a creepy guy who won't take no for an answer when he asks you on a date). So I think people began to perceive talking to strangers as 1. potentially dangerous and 2. socially inappropriate. And because they grew up with scheduled social interactions, I think they feel like they don't really know *how* you would make friends with a stranger in the first place. And then on top of that, there's a real lack of third spaces where you can organically meet people, so I think a lot of people don't really know where they would go to make a new friend even if they did know how.

So you already have a difficult environment for making friends, and then two things happen: the internet and COVID. The internet has created a weird panopticon where, at any moment, someone might be offering us up for judgement online without our knowledge or consent. There's this perception that if you do something weird or socially inappropriate (or even just doing something that can be interpreted as weird or socially inappropriate), someone might make a TikTok of it and then the entire internet will jump on you. Combined with that, the internet has created an environment (online, but also in the real world) in which what is and isn't socially acceptable is much more strict, and there isn't much compassion for people who get things wrong. And if you're seen interacting with a "bad person", even if you didn't know, you can end up being labeled a "bad person" too. So a lot of people are anxious about trying to make new friends because they're afraid that they'll say the wrong thing, or worst case scenario, that they'll say the wrong thing and end up being dog-piled online. There's a lot more social anxiety about interactions because anything we do has the potential to be immortalized online and because we're so trained to over-analyze what we say and do in case it can be misinterpreted by people looking for a fight.

And then COVID happens, and the (oftentimes already rather limited) social skills that people had started to deteriorate from lack of use. We weren't having day-to-day interactions with strangers anymore, and we weren't in real-life social situations where we could make friends. We were mostly doing things by ourselves, or maybe with one or two friends we already had and trusted. Plus, other people were a legitimate threat to our health during that period of time. So people got more scared of strangers than we were before, and we lost the skills required to be able to make new friends. We also got really used to staying home and doing things by ourselves, and so we kind of lost the skills required to motivate ourselves to go out and have a good time with other people.

All of that combined leads to a cohort of people who were never really taught how to make friends growing increasingly anxious about interacting with strangers, who don't really have in-person places to make friends, and whose hobbies largely involve being alone in their homes. Leaving their homes feels like a huge effort and like opening ourselves up to committing potential social faux pas. It's easier to just stay home.

[letterstomydaughter]

A Human Right Dear Daughters, Today I was the recipient of a comment that essentially said that because a person was employed and paid a fair wage, perhaps even treated well in terms of safety and wellbeing, that they do not have the permission (or are not allowed) to feel certain things while in the employ. This made me extremely uncomfortable. I have always taken the stand that your emotions are valid; they may be ridiculous, illogical, frustrating, contradictory, etc., but they exist, they are there, and just as I cannot tell you not to feel something, no one can control another person's emotions, much less permit them. So what does the comment really mean? It means that the person who said it believes that if you are being paid by someone, you have to swallow whatever the person throws at you, because your livelihood depends on it. In essence, if I hire you, I have more power and money, and I should be allowed to do anything (bar illegal or immoral things) to you, and you have no choice but to not get angry about it, or feel anything about it. Translated into examples, this means I can make fun of you, demean you, insult you, defame you, humiliate you, put you down, and any other sort of emotional damage I wish, as long as i do not physically harm you (or through inaction cause harm to you), and you will have to endure it because I'm paying your salary. I want to say two things about this, which are the two main factors for why this bothers me so much internally. Firstly, I want to recognise that, unfortunately, this is the way the vast majority of the world's people in power work. They do not understand anything outside their money and privilege, and even if they once were in that position, that does not give them the right to treat others the same way they were treated. If anything, in my opinion, it makes them worse people, because despite knowing the hardship they faced, they choose to enact that same hardship on others with full knowledge - that is far more despicable than doing it out of ignorance. Whether we like it or not, however, it happens, and very often in the world, how far up you rise depends on how much bullshit you can tolerate (among other things). Secondly, at this point I hope you would also realise how wrong it is to treat someone else like that; just because the world does it doesn't make it right. Just because it's common to see doesn't mean we have to participate in it, and just because everyone is doing it doesn't mean we don't speak up when we see it (although as your father I also love you enough to hope you have some discernment on when and how you speak up in order not to put yourself in harm's way). If you ever rise into a position of power, no matter how small a portion you may weld, I hope you treat those under you with equal respect as those alongside you, if not more. Sometimes people are forced into situations that others (and us) might find less acceptable because of their circumstances and social conditions. It could be as simple as the colour of your skin you were born with, the country you were born in, the parents you were born to, the place you are residing in, the company you are employed at, the job you hold (and are very likely good at). It doesn't make them any less of a human being, any less of a fully emotional person, any less deserving of our respect and any more deserving of our condescension, humiliation, insults, or derogation. It is true that some people can give you more - whether in material, monetary, career, connection, political, economic, or social terms - and I am not asking you to treat everyone with the same level of deference as you would someone of a much higher rank. I am asking you to give everyone the same basic level of human respect - in that we do not put down another person in order to entertain ourselves, we do not push people into corners when we know they cannot fight back, we do not become bullies. Be good, my daughters; for I know you are, and will be. Love, Dad

[vasco-portable-translators]

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Travel all around the world and speak like a native

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New Travel Trends Bring Exciting News in 2022

How to Learn a Language Fast?

[servantofthefates]

What Really Happens During Mercury Retrograde

Imagine that your mom is cooking a meal.

Naturally, she should keep watch of the stove, so that food and house alike would not be burned. Sure, your mom can leave the kitchen for several minutes to do something else for a while. But it would be unwise for her to leave the house entirely for a long period of time.

Your mom is Mercury. The stove is your life.

Specifically, it is the part of your life that deals with communication, electronics, travel, work, routine and health – areas that Mercury rules.

When Mercury is in retrograde, no one is watching the stove.

And like we said, sometimes, that is perfectly fine. Whole buildings do not burn down just because one stove in one apartment on one floor was left alone for one short moment.

And yet we never know when the broth would spill over from the pot, making the surface of the stove slippery, causing the pot to fall over to the floor, and on the way down, impactfully hit a pan that then ricochets onto the gas pipe, resulting in an explosion that brings about the loss of property and life.

This is why letters get lost in the mail and packages are delayed… the Wi-Fi stops working and you send texts to the wrong person… online stores charge you double the correct amount or cancel your order for no reason… your travel agent misspells your name on your airline ticket which leads to you missing your flight… you mistake AM for PM on an email which is why you are a no-show to your job interview… a power shortage occurs in your area messing with your schedule for the entire weekend… and you neglect to read the allergen information on a bar of chocolate which ends up almost killing you.

Moreover, when your mom is not around, naughty kids who are usually afraid to approach you are suddenly emboldened to ask you to play with them again. Hence abusive exes and toxic friends could come back to hurt you once more.

So you see, Mercury Retrograde is not to be downplayed. It really is a period rife with potential harm and danger.

What then can you do?

Simple.

Watch the stove.

Your mom is not around, so you have to do it yourself.

See a spill? Wipe it. Hear a scary sound from the oven? Turn it off. The pot is suddenly on fire? Use the fire extinguisher. The situation is beyond your control? Call out for help.

When Mercury is away, we are not completely defenseless. We are intelligent souls with the ability to protect ourselves.

Be more vigilant than you normally are. Read the fine print on a contract twice before you sign. Scrutinize receipts. Double check dates and timings. Allot extra hours or days for anything crucial. Always have a Plan B.

But when something goes wrong anyway, do not beat yourself up over it.

You tried your best. When Mercury comes back, he will reward you for it.

[momentsbeforemass]

Faith

(by request, my homily from Sunday)

In Sunday’s Gospel, Jesus heals Bartimaeus, a man who was blind.

With a lot of the healings in the Gospels, we don’t even have the name of the person who Jesus heals. Here, we not only get the name, but we get his father’s name as well (he’s “Bartimaeus, the son of Timaeus”).

St. Augustine takes this extra detail to mean that Bartimaeus was well-known. Everybody in Jericho knew who he was. Which means that everybody had an opinion about Bartimaeus. And we see that play out in the Gospel.

There were people who saw Bartimaeus as a thing. Because he was blind. Someone to look down on. Because he was forced to beg, to keep body and soul together.

In the Gospel, these are the ones whose response to Bartimaeus crying out to Jesus for help is to tell him to shut up.

There were also people who saw Bartimaeus as a human being. Someone who needs help, to be sure, but also someone worth their time and trouble.

In the Gospel, these are the ones whose response to Jesus calling to Bartimaeus is to help him get up on his feet. Encourage him. Point him in the right direction. Make sure that he gets to Jesus.

The first group? The ones who tell Bartimaeus to shut up? They’re a waste of time.

The second group? The ones who help and encourage Bartimaeus? They’re great.

They’re doing God’s work, setting an example for all of us. But that’s not the most important part.

The most important part? It’s found in something Jesus says to Bartimaeus, as He heals him,

“Your faith has saved you.”

What exactly does that mean? Why is that the most important part?

Let’s back up a step.

God’s love and kindness towards us knows no limits. If nothing else, Good Friday is proof of that.

As Jeremiah tells us, “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.’”

Translation – you are God’s beloved child. There is literally nothing you can do that will change God’s love for you. God is with you every step of the way, no matter what you’re facing.

Even if it’s stuff that you and I have brought on ourselves, through our own poor use of the choices and opportunities that have been given to us. God is constantly pouring out His love for you.

And you’re thinking, “That’s not how it feels for me. Sometimes, maybe a lot of the time, I’m not really feeling God’s presence. Or God’s love.”

I have those moments too. I mean, I know in my head that God loves me. I know that God is with me every step of the way. But sometimes, I’m just not feeling it.

Why? Why is that?

It’s because I’m focused on the wrong thing. On whatever I messed up. And not on God.

First, a reality check. You and I may feel like we’ve have blown it. That if God did have a plan for our lives, well, we’ve messed it up beyond any hope of salvage. And the reason that we’re not feeling God’s presence in our lives is because we’ve screwed things up so badly that God has just given up on us.

Here’s the reality check – you and I are not that powerful. No matter how far we fall. No matter how long we stray. No matter what we do. There is literally nothing that you and I can do to put ourselves beyond the love and saving power of God.

I take great comfort in knowing that God knows me better than I do. That when God laid out the plan for my life, He factored in my stupidity.

And you’re thinking, “That’s great, but why doesn’t it feel like that?”

The answer comes down to what Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel. When He says to Bartimaeus, “Your faith has saved you.”

A lot of us confuse faith with having the right ideas about God. There is no doubt that knowing who God is, that having the right ideas about God, is important. That’s because having the wrong ideas about God makes it harder to have a relationship with God, makes it harder to have faith.

Having the right ideas about God, knowing who God really is, makes it easier to have faith. But don’t confuse having the right ideas about God with the faith that Jesus is talking about.

The faith that Jesus is talking about is a relationship, one that’s grounded in two things.

It’s grounded in believing that God will do what He says He will do. And it’s grounded in being open to God doing it His way.

Believing that God will do what He says He will do isn’t passive. It’s the opposite of buying a St. Cabrini raffle ticket, thinking “somebody’s going to win that $10,000 prize – wouldn’t it be nice if it was me?” Then sticking the ticket in your pocket and forgetting about it.

That’s because believing that God will do what He says He will do isn’t believing that God can do it. It’s believing that God will do it. And then acting on it.

By taking whatever it is we’re facing, and handing it over to God.

Then let go of it, and follow God’s lead in dealing with it.

Let go of it, and know that God will take care it.

Let go of it, and (if you and I are serious about changing how we feel) start thanking God that He has already taken care of it – right in the middle of it.

Start thanking God that He has taken care of it. Not after it’s all said and done, but right now, while you and I are going through it.

Right now, while it hurts the most, while it hits the hardest. Thank God that He has already taken care of it.

It won’t make what we’re dealing with magically go away. But that gratitude will open the door to receiving God’s peace. Not the peace of quiet and calm, eventually, when it’s all over and everything has settled down. But the powerful, active peace of God, right now, right in the middle of the storm.

If you’re serious about this, about having the faith that Jesus is talking about, about having God’s peace right in the middle of the storm, then you can’t forget the other part. Being open to God doing it His way.

Because handing it over to God, really handing it over to God, means letting go. And (here’s the hard part) not taking it back.

Trusting that the all-powerful, eternal God who loves us probably has a better idea of how to handle things than limited creatures like you and me.

Realizing what we’re saying in the Our Father, the Lord’s Prayer, when we say, “Thy will be done.” And actually meaning it.

Following God’s lead. Even if we can’t see how it’s going to work out. Actually trusting God.

Believing that God will do what He says He will do. And being open to God doing it His way.

That’s the faith that Jesus is talking about.

That’s why I know that the prayer that was in Bartimaeus’ heart when he called out to Jesus is the same prayer that you and I need to be praying,

“Lord, I don’t see a way, but I know you have a way.”

Sunday’s Readings

[ohh-baekhyun]

Sugar | 03

summary: Getting into a performing arts college isn’t cheap. In desperate need of money, you sign yourself up on an online dating site called Sugar. There, you match with a wealthy man named Mr Byun.

genre: Softdom!baek, sugardaddy!au, teacherxstudent!au

taglist : in comment section. im sorry if i missed you, i deleted some of my asks the other time. let me know if you wanna be tagged :)

One Month Later

Living in a spacious apartment had its own downside. More often than not, I felt lonely, but I wasn’t complaining. Baekhyun didn’t come over everyday because he wanted to give me time to do things that didn’t involve him. I think they called it me time, whatever that was. Baekhyun said it was to prevent us from growing too dependent on each other, which could be unhealthy. And as much as I disliked it, he was right. Our relationship wasn’t permanent, and there would come a time when either one of us had to call the arrangement off. I would be sad, because that’s human, but not to the point where I became depressed.

When I wasn’t spending the day with Baekhyun, I’d be practicing the piano. After my father passed away, my stepmother had sold off our Steinway and stopped paying for my lesson. I was lucky to know a friend who allowed me to practice at her music shop for free. When I wasn’t practicing, I would be at home, taking care of my little plants on the balcony. They were like my babies.

Since Baekhyun had suggested that I learned a new language, I’d decided to take up Chinese. He had offered to hire a home tutor for me, but I insisted on learning it myself because Chinese lessons were expensive. We argued about it for a while, until he decided he wanted to learn too. We had our lesson together every Sunday afternoon for two hours. Our tutor, Miss Fei, was a long time friend of Baekhyun. And for some reason, she was always picking on me over the slightest things. Sometimes when Baekhyun wasn’t looking, she would kick my leg, step on me or pinch my arm under the table. If I had to guess, I think she didn’t respect me because she knew Baekhyun was paying for me. That’s why I’ve been working a part time job as a piano accompanist at a ballet school. It was an easy job with a reasonable pay, and I only had to be there twice a week. Thanks to that, I had finally saved enough to pay for this month’s lessons. I just didn’t know if Baekhyun would accept it.

Today was a Saturday and I was doing the homework Miss Fei had given us. I’d actually finished everything but I wanted to double check to avoid mistakes. I was scolded for making just one error last week, and if Baekhyun wasn’t there, I thought she might even beat me.

By the time I was done, I was too tired to climb to bed so I’d fallen asleep on the desk. What woke me up was the creaking sound from the door opening. I lifted my head from my folded arms and looked at the door. “Hi Mr Byun,” I greeted, my voice soft and languid. He was dressed casually in a black sweatshirt and pajama pants, his hair tousled like he had just woken up from sleep and rushed here immediately.

“What are you doing?” Baekhyun asked, approaching me.

“Chinese homework,” I answered. “Can you help me check if there’s any mistake?”

He stopped behind my chair and bent over to rest his palms on the desk. His chest touched the back of my head as he scanned my workbook. Suddenly I stopped feeling sleepy but hyper aware. Baekhyun leaned closer when he reached for a pencil, and I had a feeling it was deliberate because the thing he was reaching for was just next to my book. I inhaled, feeling warm all over. Baekhyun remained silent as he continued checking my work. “This one–“ he drew a cross next to my wrong answer. “–is supposed to be a wǔ, not wù, they have different meaning, sweetheart, he explained.

I picked up an eraser and wiped it off before making a correction. If he hadn’t caught that, Miss Fei was gonna to go ballistic. I sighed in relief and glanced up from my desk. He was staring down at me. I wore a grateful smile. “Thank you,”

“Welcome,” He whispered, leaning down to drop a kiss on my lips.

“Why are you here, Mr Byun?” I asked when he pulled away.

His brow furrowed. “Do you not know what day it is?”

My eyes flew to the desk calendar, then I glanced up at him again. “Sunday?” I said hesitantly. Baekhyun frowned at me and I started to get anxious. “Did I forget something?”

Baekhyun sighed. “You are really unbelievable,” He mumbled, setting down the pencil before pushing himself off the desk. He clasped my hand and tugged me up to my feet. “I have a surprise for you,” he said as he walked me out of my bedroom.

He led me down the short hallway and as I stepped out into the open plan living room, my eyes widened. There were a combination of white and pink balloons floating on the ceiling, and rose petals scattered on the floor around the couch. Realization dawned when I saw cake on the coffee table along with other props and gift boxes. I was starry-eyed as he walked me there. I finally glanced at him, my eyes blinking in disbelief. “You did this? for me?”

He wears a smile. “Happy Birthday,”

My eyes flew to the grandfather clock. It was half past twelve. The fact that he remembered my birthday was shocking enough, he even came all the way here at midnight to surprise me. “I…” I didn’t know what to say. Thank you didn’t seem enough.

“Have I stolen your ability to speak, sweetheart?” He teased, one side of his lips curling up. I linked my arm around his and hummed. He chuckled at my sudden clinginess. “How could you forget your own birthday?” He questioned as we both lowered ourselves to the couch.

“I haven’t celebrated in a long time…” I replied, a tremble in my voice. My eyes were getting glassy and I had to keep them open so the tears wouldn’t fall. “Thank you for remembering, Mr Byun,”

“I was going to surprise you at twelve o’clock sharp–“ Baekhyun bent over to light up the candles and I used the opportunity to wipe the tears away. “–but I fell asleep. I hope I’m still the first to wish you?” He asked.

That explained the pajamas. And the hair. My heart warmed at his thoughtfulness. I shifted closer and slid my arms around his waist, giving him a side hug. “You are the first,” And the only one.

Baekhyun straightened his back once he was done and I unwrapped my arms around him. He held the cake towards me. “Make a wi–,” his speech halted as I blew the candles out. He raised his brows. “No wishes?”

I shook my head. “I have everything I need,”

Baekhyun regarded me for a while, seemingly confused, but he didn’t make any comment and placed the cake on the table.

I stared up at the balloons on the ceiling. They were so pretty. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done to me,” I said, looking back at him, a smile on my lips. “I appreciate it, Mr Byun,”

“To tell the truth, it’s my first time doing something like this,”

“Oh?” my head tilted in question. “What about your subs, or your ex-girlfriends?”

“I wrote them a cheque as a gift and they loved it,” he said. “But you don’t seem to like money that much, which is still very strange to me,”

“Of course I like money. But only money I earned with my own hard work,” I clarified. “I look for a sugar daddy to help me pay for college, not to live a lavish lifestyle. So...you don’t have to keep spoiling me,”

“Sweetheart, I like how undemanding you are, but buying you gifts isn’t gonna make me poor,” He insisted gently. “Honestly, every time you say no, it makes me wanna do the opposite,”

I gave him a long stare, hoping for some magic to make him listen. But he just shrugged. I sighed, giving up. “It’s gonna be very hard getting you a present because nothing would measure up,” I muttered under my breath.

“Speaking of present,” he said. “I have another surprise for you,” he tugged at my hand. As I followed him, I really wished he didn’t get me something too extravagant. I’ve been keeping count of the money I owed him because I planned to pay him back one day. Counting all the gifts he bought for me, my hair would turn gray by the time I paid off my debt.

“You said you didn’t want me to spend too much on you, so–” He pushed at the sliding door that led to the balcony. At first, I assumed that he had bought me a new plant, but then, I heard a gurgling sound that wasn’t there before, and as I stepped further in, I finally spotted the surprise.

“You got me a fish?” The surprise made my voice sound a little squeaky. Grinning hard, I moved closer to the rectangular fish tank. They were three little gold fishes. I lowered myself into a squat by the tank and Baekhyun crouched on one knee next to me. My finger tapped on the glass lightly and I giggled when they swam towards me, their fins fluttering in the water. I admired them for a while, and when I felt Baekhyun staring at me, I turned to meet his eyes. “This is the best gift so far,”

“You weren’t this happy when I got you that Chanel bag,” he commented. “I’d do this sooner if I knew,”

“Why did you get me a fish though?”

“I thought you might feel lonely when I’m not here,” he told me. “They can be your company,”

Overwhelmed by this thoughtfulness, I let out a groan of frustration. “You need to stop being so perfect, Mr Byun, it makes me wanna kiss you all the time,”

Laughter filled his voice. “And why is that a problem?”

“Because kissing usually leads to sex…and if we keep having sex, my vagina might actually break.”

Baekhyun blew out a huff of laughter, his eyes full of heat with a mix of amusement. ”I wasn‘t thinking about sex at all, but now I am. Thanks to you,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers slid through my hair and he cupped the back of my head. I stopped breathing, my heartbeat accelerating when he leaned in to press his lips on mine. I let my eyelids drop naturally as he kissed me, soft and slow. When he pulled back, we shared the same desire-filled gaze. “We should go inside,” He whispered over my lips, his words an invitation.

I swallowed and smiled, albeit shyly. “We should,” I whispered back.

Baekhyun glanced over at the fish tank for a second, then his eyes reverted to me. “Do you wanna name them first?” He asked. I bobbed my head, and we were silent for a while as we considered their names. “Hm, what about Bubbles?” He suggested.

“Oh that’s nice! Maybe we can call them Bubbles, Blossom and Buttercup?” I proposed. “Since our names also start with a B, I think it’s perfect. What do you think, Mr Byun?”

Baekhyun gave me a soft look and smiled. He probably found it funny that I took this so seriously like I was naming my baby. “Alright, sweetheart,” he agreed.

For the next few minutes, Baekhyun taught me how to care for the goldfishes, like how many times I should feed it daily and how often I should change their water.

We returned to the living room and stored the cake in the fridge for tomorrow. None of us was hungry at the moment.

“I think we should tell Miss Fei to cancel today’s lesson since it’s your birthday,” Baekhyun suggested once we entered my bedroom. He shut the door behind us and stared at me for an answer. Remembering something, I put him on hold as I searched for my purse. This room was too big. Baekhyun took a seat on the edge of my bed and watched me. “What are you looking for?”

Finding my purse under the desk, I lowered myself to the ground and picked up an envelope where I kept my money. I was lifting myself up when Baekhyun reminded me to watch my head. Except it was too late and I’d knocked myself against the roof of the desk. I winced out loud, my hand flying up to rub the pain.

Baekhyun sighed out, shaking his head at my clumsiness. “You’re gonna wind up in the hospital at this rate. Can you please...be more careful?” he reprimanded gently. I flashed him a sorry smile and walked over to him. “Are you okay?” He asked and I answered with a small hum. Despite that, he still observed me closely, probably making sure I was telling the truth.

“I’m okay,” I reassured, climbing into bed and dipped my knee on each side of his thighs. He immediately slid a hand around my back as I lowered myself to sit on his lap, preventing me from falling backward to the ground. “I’ve been saving up,” I told him, holding up the envelope in between our chest. “Here’s this month’s lesson fee,”

He dropped his gaze to the envelope, his brows furrowing. “We’re done arguing about this,” he said firmly.

“Please accept it, Baekhyun,” I pleaded. “I think Ms Fei looks down on me because she knows you’re paying for me,”

He considered me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “How exactly did you come to that conclusion?”

I tried not to read too much into his reaction. Baekhyun was a rational person, he probably needed to hear all the facts before he made a judgement. “For starter, she’s always picking on me over the smallest thing,”

“She’s a teacher, it’s her job to point out your mistakes, but that doesn’t equal hating you, don’t you agree?” He said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“But–“

“Not everyone is going to coddle you, princess. You’ll never improve that way,”

A sudden wave of anger flared in my chest. Baekhyun and I argued before, but I’ve never gotten worked up like this. I guessed because this situation hit home for me. I could take a scolding, name calling or even a beating, but not when someone doubted my integrity. I slid off his lap and stood on my feet. He stood up and tried to reach for my hands, but I backed away. He frowned and studied me. I stared back at him, my eyes cold.  “I’m not a spoiled girl who needs coddling,” I told him boldly. So unlike me. I wasn't usually the assertive one.

Baekhyun must've agreed because he was speechless for a moment. “That’s not what I said,”

“But that’s what you imply,” I argued.

“If you don’t like Miss Fei, we can always find a new tutor for us.” He persuaded me. “I don’t want us to argue on your birthday,”

I didn’t answer to that. I wanted to tell him about the kicking and the pinching, but I doubt he would believe me. I walked to the other side of the bed to stay as far away as possible from him. I got in bed, pulling the comforter over my body and turning to lay on my side. A few seconds later, Baekhyun appeared kneeling on one knee by the bed, his eyes full of concern as he checked on me. Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop it. "I’m not making up stories like you think I am, Mr Byun,” I said, my voice trembled.

His eyes widened slightly at the sight of my crying, maybe because it was his first time seeing me like this. “I don’t–“ he stopped and sighed, sounding so exhausted all of a sudden. His face was blurry through the tears, but I could still detect the guilt clouding his expression. “Sweetheart, shh,” he shushed and reached over to dab my tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Fei is an old friend of mine, but I should’ve known better. You’re not someone who complains unless something is really bothering you. Had she done something inappropriate to you?”

“I don’t wanna tell you. You’re not gonna believe me.” my words were snippy despite my state. Miss Fei was Baekhyun’s friend of ten years, and I knew him for merely a month. Of course he would trust her more than me.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to me right now. But is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

I pulled the cover blanket my head, ignoring him. When he didn’t say anything, it proved that he acknowledged his mistake. Because on a normal day, he wouldn’t appreciate this no-manner attitude from me.

Although I couldn’t blame him for doubting me, that didn’t mean I wasn’t hurt. Dark memories flooded my mind, bringing me back to those tough days when I was still living with my stepmother. She had never believed me when I told her that her boyfriend had been making a move on me. Until it was too late. Well, at least Baekhyun didn’t beat me up like they did. And he apologized. I’d forgiven him, but I didn’t want to speak to him yet. I didn’t care that it was my birthday, the day had never been significant to me anyway.

Author's Note:

hi everyone, it's been a very long while. I updated the 2nd chapter last christmas and in the time i was gone, i was constantly feeling very discouraged and demoralized about my writing. I tried writing story after story but im always worried it isn’t good enough. I've never been confident of myself to begin with, and then with the lack of feedback, I feel even worse. I don't know if I can write any new fics, but I really wanna try completing my ongoing fics hehe thank you for reading this story, i hope this chapter is not that bad, I haven't written for so long. Next chapter is gonna be very fluffy and smutty once the two finally made up! :D and if you like my fic, please show some support by commenting, it's what keeps me going and I really appreciate it! Tell me what you think of this! see you again!

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 30: Slipping Through My Fingers

Summary: Jamie grasps at straws for a way to ease Claire

Read on AO3

Read chp 30 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 30

***

Jamie didn’t remember dozing off, but he must have, because he was dragged out of sleep so abruptly it was like cold water had been dumped over his head, shooting adrenaline into his system. It wasn’t apparent at first what had woken him until Claire made a sound that clearly wasn’t the first time she’d cried out. 

It was a whimper, weak but plaintive, piercing to Jamie’s soul. He shot into wakefulness as it tore from her throat again, and he pushed himself up on his elbow, blinking sleep away so he could see her. 

She was still asleep. Her eyes were clenched tightly closed while her head jerked back and forth in an unconscious mimicry of shaking her head no. Before Jamie could even reach out to bring her out of the dream, she was shooting up in bed, eyes open and wild with panic. 

Her frantic gaze met his eyes, and her chest heaved as she drew in a sharp breath that was halfway between a gasp and a sob. 

Jamie was crushing her to his chest without a second more of hesitation. 

“It was jes’ a dream, a nighean,” he said as he held her fiercely, “it’s alright. It wasna real. I’m here.” 

He tucked her head under her chin and made shushing sounds. The puir lass butted her forehead into his chest, but instead of bringing her arms around him— which she likely lacked the strength to do— she simply leaned her whole body into him. 

“It’s alright now, my fair one,” Jamie hushed, “it wasna real. Was jes’ a nightmare.” 

She gave a tiny tilt of the head that may have been a nod, but Jamie still felt her trembling against him. His heart broke for her. Clearly whatever she had dreamt had shaken her to the core. It had been a while since she’d had a reaction with this much energy to anything, and now her body was alight with fear. 

Jamie nudged his chin down to kiss her hair and softly asked, “what were ye dreamin’, lass?” 

Her swallow was audible and her breath shuddered before she answered. 

“It was dark. Pitch black, but somehow I could see the darkness swirling. And I was ripped apart— over and over. And I—“ she inhaled sharply, “I was alone.” 

“It wasna real, mo nighean donn. Ye arena alone. I’m right here. And I’m no’ goin’ anywhere.”

Jamie hated not being able to see her face and meet her eyes when he said that, so he carefully laid her back flat on the bed. She complied, boneless and allowing him to maneuver her, but he spotted a flash of distress in her eyes. 

“Dinna fash,” he quickly soothed. He laid down next to her, bracing his head up on his elbow so he could stare down at her, but he brought his other hand to stroke her arm. “I’m here, aye?” He met her eyes this time, trying to impart the solemnity of his words, “We’re together. And that’s all that matters.” 

She let out a breath that was as much of an agreement as she could muster. 

“Just…” she said suddenly, surprising Jamie, “don’t leave my side.” 

In another show of vigor, she reached up to twine her arms around his neck and cling to him. He knew what she wanted without being told. Sliding a hand underneath her back, Jamie gently lifted her into a sitting position, careful not to put much distance between them that would upset her. When there was inevitably a bit of space between their midsections, Claire scooted closer to press herself to him. 

“Sassenach?” When she didn’t respond, he said again, “Claire? Is this alright?”

She laid her head on his shoulder, “I just want you to hold me for a bit.”

His stomach twisted, and he withdrew his hands from where they were flat on her back so that he could wrap his arms tightly around her instead. He pressed his lips to her forehead and then tucked her head underneath his chin. Tears burned at his eyes. 

“I ken ye’re scared,” he murmured into her hair, kissing it softly, “but we’ll face it together, mo ghraidh, always.” 

A shuddering breath against him was the only response. 

He wished he had more words for her— something more to say that would ease her— but even language seemed to fail him. He could only say the same thing over and over, promising to be with her. Finding himself at the end of the power of words, he relied on touch. 

Bringing a hand up, he began to stroke her hair gently. It occurred him how she seemed impossibly small. There was no trace of his vibrant, curious, and even mischievous faerie. She just clung to him, quiet, and allowed him to hold her. 

She was somehow muted. Everything about her seemed almost… serene, only in all the wrong ways. She simply didn’t have the energy to do anything more than listlessly be. 

Jamie found himself missing her, even though she was there with him at that very moment. 

Adso was meowing insistently outside, demanding that his morning meal be served, but Jamie wouldn’t dream of letting Claire go. He patiently rocked her, swaying slightly as she rested in his arms. 

“When I was young,” Jamie began to speak, not sure exactly why this story came to his head, “my older brother Willie and I wanted tae build a treehouse sae badly.” Claire nestled her head further onto his shoulder, settling in, and Jamie took that as a sign to continue. “A treehouse is jes’ a tiny room made of wood that you put high up in a tree and have tae climb up to even get into it.” The usual Claire would have definitely had something to say about that, some snarky remark about the oddities of humanity, but she was too fatigued to do anything but listen and breathe against him. “My da didna trust us wi’ the tools, and he was workin’ full time and tryin’ tae keep up wi’ the farm. We begged and pleaded for him tae jes’ let us do it ourselves, but he said it’d have tae wait until the summer. But then Murtagh showed up in our backyard one day without a word, hauling pieces of wood and his tools, and Willie and I couldna believe our eyes. We worked every afternoon for weeks. When it was finally done, Murtagh, Willie, and my Da spent a night up there— cuddled up in blankets side by side, looking out the windae at the stars and listenin’ to Da and Murtagh tell stories. I remember Willie and I fell asleep huddled together for warmth, listenin’ to the soothing sound of their voices. It was the best night.”

Jamie swallowed the lump in his throat. What he had left out was the fact that it was after Willie’s cancer diagnosis. As they’d built the treehouse, he’d watched Willie grow more and more fatigued. That night in the treehouse was one of the last perfect memories he had with his brother. 

He realized suddenly that it’d been foolish to tell such an emotional story to Claire at that moment, and as lungs clenched, he wished he could take his words back inside. Sensing his grief, she whispered, “you miss him.” 

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement— an acknowledgement of his sorrow and longing for his brother. 

“I’m sorry, I didna mean…” 

“You can’t help what you feel, Jamie, don’t apologize,” she said softly. When Jamie tilted his head down to look at her, he saw she’d lifted her face from his shoulder and there were tears glistening in her eyes. 

“My sweet lass—” he croaked. 

The reason for his telling the story— the reason why it had come to his head in the first place— hung in the air, heavy and unspoken between them. 

“I’m okay, Jamie,” she said, straightening up and blinking her brimming eyes at him, “really. I’m just… tired. I’ll be alright. I don’t want you to worry like this.” 

So she could feel that too. 

“Of course I worry for ye, mo nighean donn,” he whispered.

There was a flash of panic inside him, sudden and sharp. Jamie had lost much in his life. He’d lost his brother to cancer, his mother and newborn brother to a traumatic birth, and he’d watched his father die of a stroke. He wasn’t sure he could bear to watch Claire fade away.  

But he couldn't jump to conclusions yet— he told himself firmly as he shoved all of that as far down inside himself as he possibly could. 

“I don’t want you to worry,” Claire argued, laying her head back down on his shoulder. Stubborn as ever. Her lips brushed over it in the slightest, the barest hint of a kiss. 

“I’ll try no’ to,” he promised. 

“Let’s go down and get the cheetie his breakfast,” Claire said abruptly as another urgent meow came from outside the door, although she made no move. 

“Are ye sure?” Jamie wanted to argue, at least insist that she stay in bed, but he knew deep inside him that there was no way she’d part from him even for a moment, so he offered instead, “we can stay a while longer.” He squeezed his arms more tightly around her, holding her close. 

“As long as we go together,” she said. 

As they got up from the bed, Jamie was careful to keep an arm secured firmly around her. He abided by her residual clinginess and indulged her desire to stay pressed close to him. It was no real task; he would have her in his arms every minute of every day if he could. The length of her body pressed down his arm as she leaned slightly against him. 

The moment they made it downstairs, she sat on the couch, curling her knees to her chest under the fluffy throw blanket as Jamie went in the kitchen to grab some breakfast. 

When he returned, she was antsy for his presence. He settled down on the couch next to her, holding a simple granola bar in his hand (he didn’t want to spend time preparing anything else when she was like this). Nearly instantly, he had a lapful of faerie. She climbed up, straddling his legs, and hugged her arms around his neck so their fronts were pressed together. Nearly every inch of her was touching him, and he thought if she was physically capable, she would have made the rest of her body touch too. 

It broke his heart damn near in two to see her suffering like this. 

To be helpless to do anything. 

“Want tae watch another movie, lass?” he asked gently. He had no idea what else to suggest. She needed rest and recuperation, and he ached for her to be distracted, even if just for a short while. 

She gave a little murmur of assent but didn’t raise her head from where it was burrowed into the crook of his neck.

“Hey,” he said softly, trying to get her attention. When he didn’t receive anything in reply, he smoothed his hand up her back to gently cradle the nape of her neck. He suddenly felt the need to reassure her— or, if he was being honest, for her to reassure him. “Hey, mo ghraidh. I willna let anything happen, aye?”

“I know,” she said quietly. 

But that was a lie. Both of them knew it was. 

There was no telling what was happening, no assurance that it would pass. He was making promises he couldn’t keep. But everything inside of him had been screaming the words until he had to say them. 

“What should we watch?” Jamie changed the subject before his brain could dwell on his fears long enough for Claire to sense them. 

“You pick, Jamie,” she said. 

The way she said his name... It made his heart clench terribly. She said it like it was an endearment, only his name meant the same as “love” to her. 

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jamie grabbed the remote and turned on Aristocats, knowing that cat movies and shows tended to be her favorites. His faerie had a bit of an obsession now. How different from when she’d first cowered in his arms at the sight of Adso. 

But she didn’t turn around to watch the movie. She stayed facing away from it, curled into Jamie. As the movie played, he simply held her and didn’t say a word. He would do whatever she needed for the rest of his life if only it could help her feel the slightest bit better. 

As the movie went on, Claire gradually began to melt. The paradoxical mix of listlessness and clinginess seemed to dampen, and she shifted off of him so she could curl underneath a blanket with her head in his lap instead. 

His hands settled into a rhythmic stroking of her hair. In the worst type of deja vu, Jamie realized this was just like the previous day. Claire had no energy even for the simplest of demands on her body.

She needed rest— he reminded himself. There was need to fash. He’d wanted her to sleep more, hadn’t he? 

Then why was there such a pang in his chest? 

***

Claire woke feeling disoriented. Weariness had settled deep in her bones. It was like she was underwater with a hand clutching at her ankle and dragging her downward while she constantly tried to battle toward the surface. For a second, she couldn’t figure out where she was. There was something soft underneath her cheek, comfortable, and she didn’t feel a sense of panic. Only vague unease. 

The weight on her chest didn’t abate as she sat up. She hadn’t even managed to open her eyes yet, but the dizziness that struck her full force would have been debilitating if not for the darkness encasing her. She sank back down to lay on her side. 

“Claire?” 

The voice of her beloved tore her from the swirling that was taking place in her brain. Her heart skipped a beat at his voice— the first thing she felt acutely since she’d woken. She clung to that with all her might and opened her eyes. 

Jamie was hovering over her, his eyes swimming with concern and his expression so boyish in the way he looked at her. She felt the slight ease of relief looking up at him. Seeing his face always seemed to anchor her to the ground, to the solid reassurance of his strength. 

“Any better this morning?” he asked, but there was little hope in his voice. He already knew the answer. 

It broke her heart to say it to him. She hated to make him worry, but she didn’t have the strength anymore to hide from him. 

“No,” she answered, finding her voice breathy even to her own ears. 

She closed her eyes again and was surprised to feel the heat of a tear leak from one corner. 

Jamie sighed— a heartbreaking sound— and then his big hands came up to stroke her hair. His touch was comforting; it made her feel like she could breathe, even if only for a second before the waves crashed over her again and drove her head beneath the water. 

“I dinna ken what tae do,” Jamie said softly, helplessness straining his voice in a way that tore her open.

That was enough to force her into wakefulness again. 

Jamie looked haunted. His eyes were swimming with concern, the features of his beautiful face tight with anxiety. His jaw clenched as he tried to keep himself in check. Claire was too weak to sense how distraught he was, but she didn’t need to. It was painted loud and clear over every inch of his body. It killed her to see his distress and not be able to do anything about it, but she was just too tired even to try to pretend she was alright enough to reassure him. 

“I don’t know either,” her hoarse voice answered. 

His hands were moving again, coming to cradle her face between them. So warm and strong, so gentle when he touched her. Her eyes must have fallen closed again because her world narrowed down to the single point of his thumb smoothing over her cheeks. 

“Rest, mo ghraidh,” Jamie said softly. 

Her forehead tingled as he kissed it with the barest brush of lips, and then his hands disappeared from her face. 

Her eyes popped open enough to see Jamie rising from the bed to his feet. 

“What—?” she asked foggily, finding her mouth filled with fuzz, “where are you going?”

“I’ll leave ye to yer peace, sweet one,” Jamie said tenderly, returning to her side to run his hand down her face, over her shoulder, and then down the length of her body until it rested on her hip, “go back to sleep.” 

“Please don’t go,” she found herself pleading, voice airy, “please stay, just for a little while longer?” 

A whine tore from his throat as if she had struck him with a blow. He hadn’t meant to let it out, but she knew he was so pained by seeing her like this. She nearly regretted asking him until he slipped back into bed, eager, and gathered her again into his arms. He was so big, his broad chest like a wall behind her and his arms like trees that wrapped around her body. His solidness, his strength— they gave her a sense of security. Comfort like nothing else could. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, repressing a shiver that tried to wrack her body. She hated hurting him like this. She knew he was hurting because of her. But she needed him so badly it frightened her. 

“No,” he sounded devastated again, and it was killing her to keep hearing him like that, “no, mo ghraidh. Dinna say ye’re sorry. It became my job the second I decided to love ye wi’ my whole heart. I’ll always be here for ye, as ye are for me. We take turns, aye? Now it’s yer turn.” 

Jamie always knew exactly what needed to be said to assuage her guilt. The tightness in her chest eased and she relaxed back into him, feeling more grounded. His words were a reminder that this wouldn’t last forever. She would be okay— with him— and until she was better, he’d be there to hold her. 

“Go back to sleep, mo nighean donn,” Jamie said gently, “I willna leave yer side.” 

Safe in the knowledge that Jamie would keep her afloat, she let herself drift back into the murky grey depths. 

*** 

Jamie rubbed his face wearily as placed his dishes in the sink. After she’d woken up, Claire had told him to go make himself a real meal and not just throw something together as he’d been doing recently. As much as he didn’t like leaving her, he indulged his love of cooking and made an extensive chicken parmesan for himself. Before Claire, cooking used to be one of the ways he relieved stress, but he hadn’t had any time for it as of late. He certainly was stressed with watching Claire suffer from whatever was dragging her down, but of course cooking was powerless in the face of that worry. 

The thoughts consumed him, circling him like vultures. He tried to beat them back as best as he could. It had only been a few days— it was foolish to go to extremes so early. But after google searches turned up nothing helpful about sick faeries, and Claire herself had been at a loss, Jamie was left with only the theories that his own brain could come up with. Maybe she had caught a cold or some human disease that her body didn’t know how to handle? Maybe with some time and rest she would be back to her usual self. Since a doctor's visit was out of the question, Jamie had to wait and pray. 

Pray that this was nothing like watching his family get sick. 

Pray that it would pass soon. 

And try not to lose himself to the gnawing of worry inside of him. 

Once he was done cleaning up, having barely managed to eat much at all, he walked into the living room looking for Claire. 

“Mo ghraidh?” he called. 

There was no answer. Figuring she went up to the bedroom, Jamie climbed the stairs with eager energy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand being away from her for an hour, but… well… he didn't like being away from her for an hour. 

His face was just beginning to break into a smile at the thought of holding her again as he swung into their bedroom. 

The sight inside stole it instantly, and he froze, looking at the scene in front of him with a feeling that somehow took endearment and twisted it into anguish and sympathy. 

Claire was lying on the floor, curled up on her side under her fluffy throw blanket from downstairs. 

Jamie’s heart clenched as affection warred with soft worry. He could see her chest rising and falling in an even rhythm where her hand was clutching a fold of the blanket to her chest. She wasn’t asleep— he could tell— but she laid curled up on the floor and didn’t seem to even notice him. 

“What are ye doin’ on the floor, sweet one?” he asked quietly as he knelt down next to her. He brushed a bit of her hair back from her face as her eyes opened. 

She blinked up at him slowly for a second and allowed him to gently stroke her hair before answering. 

“I’m tired,” she breathed. 

“I ken,” he said, his heart breaking and the bubble in his chest expanding painfully, “but why no’ on the bed?” 

“‘S more comfortable here,” she answered, sounding foggy. 

Jamie was perplexed for a moment before he came to the realization. She had slept on the ground her whole life. On mossy beds and leafy piles, if not just plain grass. 

A choked sound escaped him as he thought about her laying down on the ground, seeking comfort from a more familiar surface. 

“Can I lay wi’ ye a moment?” he asked through the sympathy coating his throat. 

She nodded, just a small movement of her head sliding back and forth over the carpet. As soon as he got permission, Jamie slid behind her so he could curl up against her back. At the feeling of him pressing up behind her, Claire straightened her legs a bit so Jamie could slot his own into the curve behind her knees. He draped an arm over her middle and held her close. 

“Is this alright, mo ghraidh?” he asked softly. 

“Yes,” she breathed in barely a whisper. 

So Jamie laid there on the ground with her, holding her. He wished fervently that she could find the slightest comfort— anything to ease her suffering. He more than wished. 

“God,” he prayed silently, “dinna let her slip away from me. Please. Please.” 

It took most of his willpower to keep himself from shaking under the pressure of worry. There was already enough trembling between the two of them— Claire’s body was nearly vibrating in its distress— she didn’t need him adding to that. 

“Sleep now,” he whispered in her ear, “and dinna fash. I’m here.” 

He was there. Only he was completely powerless to do anything but lay on the floor beside her and offer what little he could in the face of… Jamie didn’t even know what to call it other than suffering. 

An idea suddenly popped into his head. 

“Hold on, mo nighean donn,” Jamie said quietly into his hair. He pressed a kiss to her temple, watching her eyelashes flutter in response, and then tore himself away before he could regret leaving her. 

He all but ran down the stairs, nearly tripping in his haste, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like there was something he could do. It was small, maybe it would be insignificant, but perhaps it could ease her. And that was something. When he had grabbed the item in question, he returned upstairs. Even as he plugged it into the wall, Claire remained motionless on the ground with her eyes closed. 

The moment he turned on the space heater, however, those beautiful golds popped open to regard it with a wide gaze. It wasn’t excitement— the puir lass was too muted to look excited— but the gravity and regard that she held for the device was present. 

Jamie made sure it was pointed right at her before he made his way back over so he could take her in his arms again, positioning her in the cocoon of his body. 

“I promised ye an hour in front of the space heater, did I no’?” he said softly, trying to keep his tone light even as he felt like his heart was being thrown into a blender.

She didn’t have a witty jab about her victory nor an attempt to swindle him for more time. Instead, she was quiet for a moment before she added, “with you.”

“Aye. With me. I wouldna forget that part of the bargain, lass. It was my favorite part.” 

He felt like he was choking. This wasn’t at all how either of them had imagined the spoils of her game. She was supposed to tug him downstairs with a smirk on those lovely lips. She was supposed to force him to hold up his end of the deal as he playfully refused to turn it on. She was supposed to turn around in his arms and kiss him only a few minutes into the offered hour. 

It was supposed to be anything but this. Anything but lying quietly on the floor while Jamie scraped the bottom of the barrel for anything he could do to help her. 

“Can ye feel it, Claire?” he couldn’t help but ask, “does it feel alright?” 

She let out a shaky breath and nodded against the carpet. “Yes,” she breathed, “Thank you, Jamie.” 

That was it. Quiet and empty, her words rattled around in Jamie’s heart until they lodged like a sprinter in the beating flesh. 

“Anything else, lass? What else can I do?” he couldn’t help but ask. Beg. Plead. 

“This is nice,” she replied quietly. 

Jamie expected some sort of gesture to go with the words. A rub of his arm. A tilt of the head behind her to smile at him. Even just a shift of her body. Claire always expressed herself so physically. Only now she was still, and nothing accompanied her words except silence. 

And Jamie was left in his helplessness. 

“Alright, a leannan. Go back to yer rest now. I willna leave until ye wake again. I promise.” 

And when the second hour passed, the space heater still buzzing in front of Claire and Jamie’s back aching, he was still there with her on the floor, praying over her in whispers.

***

a/n: Please also accept my apology that this particular chapter was the gift I had for World Outlander Day. I am offering lots of hug gifs over on my twitter (@jamiemackfraser) and here if anyone needs one. Much love to you all!

Also, next chapter will be following very shortly!

Next

[pandoraborn]

hey, if the prompts thing is still open, would you mind writing about newly revived!wilbur and techno? like with them meeting for the first time since wil's revival? thank you!

The snow sounds nice beneath his feet. Wilbur’s missed the crunch and feeling of cold, that he allows himself a few seconds of enjoyment. He hums to himself as he continues to march forward, kicking aside various torches as he passes by them, and holding his new crossbow.

There’s no obvious activity nearby the house, but Wilbur already knows who’s inside. The smile on his face grows as he glances to his side, watching Tommy struggle to keep up with him. Tommy doesn’t look all that upset, but then again, Tommy also knows why they’re coming out here. Wilbur can’t wait for this particular reunion.

“Wait here Tommy,” Wilbur says soothingly. He puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to keep him from moving forward. “I need to do this alone, and I don’t want your innocent ears to hear this.”

“Oh fuck off, I’m not innocent,” Tommy grows, the grin fading from his own face. “Young maybe, but I’ve seen and heard it all already, big man.”

“I want you to be young and innocent again, Tommy.” Wilbur pats him on the shoulder. “If you call me Wilby again I’ll help you find another pet. Just like old times, remember?”

“Whatever, I’ll be a good boy and wait here. Just so you know, I want a cow so we can call it Clementine. Or...I don’t know. Why can’t I talk to him too?”

“Because this needs to be between me and him right now. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll hear all about it later.” Wilbur pats Tommy on the shoulder again before pushing forward. It’s starting to snow at this point, but Wilbur finds that oddly poetic.

He takes a moment to look around. He’d seen this place while dead, but he’d never actually paid attention until now. Everything clicks into place. Or rather, it had before, but now that Wilbur is actually here, he’s reminded of everything all over again. The whole reason for this home in the first place, everything that had happened since his own death.

He knocks on the door.

He readies his crossbow as the door creaks open, revealing the beady eyes peering through the crack. The small peek is followed by the door swinging wide open, and a very surprised Technoblade stands in place, eyes wide with (what Wilbur can only assume is) fear.

“You’re not Ghostbur,” Techno says flatly. It’s not his usual inflection, but something that matches the expression in his eyes. “You’re Wilbur.”

“Hello, Techno.” Wilbur grins brightly as he lifts the crossbow, aiming the arrow tip right between Techno’s eyes. “I’ve come to have a chat with you.”

“Wh- Wilbur, put that down.” Techno throws his arms up as he backs up. Techno then leans to the side, peering around Wilbur. “You brought Tommy with you too? What is going on, what are you doing?”

“Yes, see, I have a bone to pick with you,” Wilbur says. He pushes forward, causing Techno to retreat. “You and Phil, both. See, I don’t exactly like people slandering my name or claiming I’d agree with your methods. After seeing the crater where my country used to be, I’m remembering how I tried to reason with Phil. I remember I tried to reason with him and get him to understand that it was a home, and not a corrupt government. But for some reason, he turned a blind eye and allied himself with you.”

“Wi-...Wilbur I had to. The same things were happening over and over again, I couldn’t-”

“So you let Tommy watch you destroy something he held very dear? You took your anger out on a sixteen year old who’d been hurt and used by everyone in his life? Myself included?”

“I mean come on...” Techno continues backing up, fishing blindly in his chests for a weapon of his own. He doesn’t like that Wilbur is keeping that crossbow aimed with precision at his face. He can’t see Tommy anymore, but Techno has a hunch that Tommy is moving closer to listen in on the conversation. “That’s who I am, Wilbur. You of all people should have gotten that. You and I had the same goals even! You were dead, you didn’t see what L’Manburg had turned into. It was awful, the people inside were corrupt and power hungry, someone needed to put a stop to it.”

“No, Techno, you misunderstood me if you thought I’d be okay with my home- and I can’t believe I have to put emphasis on this- my fucking home, turning into a giant crater, all because you threw a tantrum.” Wilbur jerks his head backwards. “That child out there? He’s our brother. He’s our youngest brother, and you did nothing for him but add more trauma, more anguish, and more hurt that probably will never heal properly. Sure, he’ll probably forgive us, he’ll probably come by for a chat and a laugh. He’ll even try to move forward with his life. But that child has seen more heartache and destruction than you or I combined, and we’re the cause of that. So you tell me why you resorted to that, because that wasn’t anarchy, that wasn’t a message, that was revenge.”

“You’re not really going to shoot me with a crossbow, are you? Because that would be below you, too.”

“Oh, no, this isn’t for you.” Wilbur lets out a hum as he turns away, moving toward the ladder to head downstairs. “Like you, I believe in an eye for an eye. But unlike you, I don’t do things without an actual justification. Getting some sort of justice on Tommy’s behalf is justification enough for me.”

“Wait, what are you doing?” Techno scrambles to follow him, but Wilbur is already downstairs, facing all his villagers. “Wilbur, I need all of them. What are you doing?”

“Do you though?” Wilbur lifts the crossbow again, eyeing the now panicked villagers, cowering in their corners. “Techno, let’s play a game. Why don’t you pick one? Just one, this time.”

“Wilbur, don’t. They’re innocent.”

“So was L’Manburg.”

Techno backs up. Wilbur had a hunch that what he saw upon first arrival was fear, but it’s evident now. He can see Techno trembling, glancing between his villagers and Wilbur, shaking his head. Wilbur can hear Tommy upstairs, shuffling around and digging through chests. He feels bad that Tommy has to hear all this, but at least Tommy can’t see it.

“Wilbur please-”

“Pick,” Wilbur says curtly. “Pick a villager or this crossbow is going to be fired at you. An eye for an eye, Techno. Isn’t violence the language you speak?”

There’s a long pause. Wilbur watches him through narrowed eyes, watches as Techno seems to slump forward. After what feels like several long minutes, he lifts a hand and points in a random direction.

Instead of firing the crossbow, Wilbur marches forward and takes the villager from his corner. The villager makes several confused noises, but doesn’t fight back as Wilbur leads him to the ladder. He places the crossbow on his back and pushes the villager up, then follows behind.

“You’re not going to shoot him?”

“No. I’m taking him with me. I daresay Tommy and I could use some trading ourselves. Thank you for your sacrifice, Techno, we’ll be going now.”

“But-”

Wilbur hops back off the ladder, moving back toward Techno. Shoving him against the wall, Wilbur grips his shirt to pin him in place. “Technoblade, I don’t want to hear another argument from you. I built an entire country on the premise that we’d be free and live in peace. L’Manburg did not exist to be your personal toy, and it did not exist for you to torment my brother and watch him suffer. If you think at all that you’re the victim here or that I’d somehow see things from your point of view, you are dead wrong. We are taking that poor villager home, where we will properly care for him and not keep him locked up like some servant, and you can sit out here in this cold with Phil, because he’s all you’ll ever have in life.”

Wilbur leaves, climbing up the ladder and back outside into the cold. He barely notices that his own hands are trembling. He can hear Tommy behind him, struggling to keep up yet again, while also trying to keep the villager close.

“Wilby, are you okay?”

Wilby.

He turns to face Tommy, staring at him for a long moment. It doesn’t matter how cold they are, or that they’re still close to Techno’s house. It doesn’t even matter that Techno could possibly snap out of his stupor and come out to fight back. In that moment, all Wilbur can think about is wrapping his arms tightly around Tommy, just to hold him close. It’s another few seconds before Tommy returns the gesture.

“No,” Wilbur whispers. “But I think I will be, as long as I’ve got you.”

“Sap,” Tommy whines. But Wilbur doesn’t miss that Tommy’s grip tightens just a little more.

No, nothing else matters anymore. Just them.